ravelled to an inside breast pocket and stayed there, his
fingers lovingly caressing a case of morocco leather.

"And it's good to have brought it off. Damned good." His eyes looked
aloft to the sagging wires of the aerial.

"Wonder if I dare send 'em a message. Better not perhaps. Besides, I
want the fun of springing it on 'em myself. Still, I might give 'em a
hint--something to set 'em thinking."

He puzzled for a moment then broke into a fresh grin for a dainty
little code had suggested itself. It would be rather amusing to talk
to a group of financiers in the language of flowers. A memory of
Isabel's last words put the idea into his head when she had given him
the dog rose on the evening of his departure.

"It means hope, Tony," and "Hope it is," he had replied.

He turned to the little companion ladder and shouted into the dark
beneath.

"Ohe, Jean Prevost, half a minute."

And in answer appeared the head and shoulders of a short, thick-set,
twinkly eyed, unshaven man who gruffly demanded "Quoi?"

Jean Prevost, skipper of the "Felice," was not an "oil painting" to
look at but he was just as reliable as the craft he commanded. He and
Barraclough had had dealings together during the war and they respected
each other. If Jean Prevost were proud of anything it was of his
acquaintance with Barraclough and the knowledge he esteemed himself to
possess of the English tongue.

"Fizz me off a message on the wireless, there's a good soul."

"Hah!"

"Gerard, Regent Street, W. Deliver immediately single dog rose to Lord
Almont Frayne, Park Lane Mansions."

Jean Prevost nodded and repeated the message verbatim.

"That's it. Quick as you can."

"I send 'im now, I blerdy will. We find ze trawlers blerdy soon."

Jean Prevost showed a regrettable liberality in the use of this popular
adjective which he firmly believed lent vitality and refinement to any
sentence.

"That'll set them thinking," said Barraclough, as he turned away with a
smile. "Ha, the Eddystone!"

In direct line with their course rising like a thin twig out of the sea
showed the silhouette of the lighthouse, while between it and the now
faintly discernible mainland tiny dots of brown showed upon the water.

Your true Englishman is an absurd creation for he cannot return to his
native land even after the shortest absence, he cannot see the faint
familiar landmarks, the nestling villages, the rolling downs, the white
chalk or grey gr